She stopped outside each bedroom, and after verifying there was no light leaking from under the doors, slipped inside each room. There was no suitcase to be found, nor the belongings of Alekperov and his wife, who had apparently departed the villa. With no suitcase in the bedrooms, that left the formal living areas, and Christine moved forward, stopping at the edge of the kitchen. The lights were on and she heard water running and the clinking of pans. She pulled her pistol up, holding it with both hands, then peered around the corner. Chernov’s maid was at the sink, her back to Christine.
Christine stepped quietly past the kitchen, pausing to peer into the lit dining room, where there were a few dirty dishes, but no suitcase. Next up was the living room, and as she approached, the sound of men’s voices grew louder. She stopped at the entrance, pistol ready again, peering around the corner with one eye.
There were four men inside, one seated on a couch with his back to Christine, facing a wide-screen television on the far wall. At the adjoining bar were the two SVR agents and one of Chernov’s Security Service agents, each seated on a bar stool with a glass of clear liquid in one hand. The TV was on, but the four men were talking. She spotted her suitcase, on the floor beside the couch, open with one of her dresses hanging over the side, then she pulled back around the corner.
It was feasible. The couch was close to the living room entrance, and if she dropped onto the ground, she could enter unseen by the men at the bar, their view blocked by the back of the couch. Likewise, the men couldn’t see her suitcase, also blocked by the couch. She knelt into a crouch and peered around the corner again. She was still too high; the faces of the three men at the bar were still visible above the back of the couch. Christine lay prone, and after verifying she could no longer see the three men, she crawled slowly into the living room.
She reached the back of the couch, then made her way slowly toward the end. She looked up; the man had his arms spread out along the top of the couch, gesturing with his hands on occasion before returning them to their resting place. Christine pulled the suitcase across the carpet toward her, back around the corner of the couch, then lifted the lid carefully and searched inside. After sifting through her clothes, she spotted her purse, its contents dumped into the bottom of her suitcase. Beside the purse was Elena’s phone. She reached in and retrieved it.
Gorev had knocked the phone from her hand and she wondered if it was still functional. There was no sign of damage, however. Placing her pistol on the carpet, she simultaneously pressed the power and down volume buttons. The cell phone vibrated and Christine froze, then shot her gaze upward. The man still had his arms on the back of the couch and the four men continued their discussion. She retrieved her pistol, and with the gun in one hand and cell phone in the other, prepared to slip from the living room.
She started crawling away when the man’s arm dropped over the back of the couch, his hand coming to rest an inch from her head. Her eyes went to the ornate gold ring on his hand; the man on the couch was Gorev. The vision of him shoving his pistol into her mouth flashed in her mind, and emotions flooded her body.
Without considering the ramifications, she dropped the phone and sprang to her feet, grabbing a fistful of Gorev’s hair, yanking his head back so he could see her face. She pressed the pistol barrel against his forehead. Christine looked at the other three men, their hands inserted inside their jackets, who had frozen when she’d placed the pistol against Gorev’s head.
She had no idea if they understood English, but said, “Pull your guns out slowly and toss them onto the floor.”
When none of the men followed her direction, she pressed the pistol hard into Gorev’s forehead. “Tell your men to toss their guns unless you want your head to look like a Cheerio. You do have Cheerios in Russia, don’t you?”
Gorev spoke to the three men in Russian, and they tossed their pistols onto the floor.
Then he looked up at her. “Hello, Christine.”
“Hello, Simon.” She deliberately mispronounced his name.
“Put the gun down,” he said, “and no harm will come to you.”
She almost laughed. When President Xiang offered his word in the Great Hall of the People, she believed him. Gorev, on the other hand, would kill her the instant he got the chance.
As if reading her mind, he said, “You have my word.”
“I have a better idea,” Christine said. “We’re going to play a game tonight. It’s called Christine says. Are you ready?”
Gorev didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed.
Christine smiled, then moved the pistol slowly down his forehead, between his eyes, and down the bridge of his nose. When she reached his mouth, she rested the barrel on his lips.
“Christine says, Open your mouth.”
When Gorev didn’t comply, she mashed the barrel against his lips. “Open your mouth or I’ll blow a hole through your teeth.”
Gorev slowly opened his mouth, and Christine slid the barrel inside.
“Simon, are you ready to die?”
Gorev didn’t answer, not that he could talk with a pistol barrel in his mouth. Christine said, “It’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer.”
She pulled the gun out slightly, so he could see her finger wrapped around the trigger. She squeezed the trigger slowly, so he could watch the color of her index finger change from pink to white as she increased the pressure.
“You probably thought it was cute,” Christine said, “terrorizing me with your game. How does it feel?”
Her thoughts returned to what he’d done to her in the boathouse, and a dark mood settled over her. Gorev was a cruel, sadistic creature who enjoyed torturing others.
“We’re going to play a new game,” she said. “Want to know what it’s called?”
She crouched down beside him, her eyes on the three agents as she whispered, “It’s called Seemon dies.”
Christine stood and pulled the trigger.
Gorev’s head recoiled as a hole was blown in the back of his skull, splattering the top of the couch with a red puff, followed by a rivulet of blood.
She pulled the pistol from Gorev’s mouth. “It looks like I forgot to take the bullets out.”
Christine pointed her pistol toward the three men. “I don’t have a beef with you,” she said as their eyes shifted between her gun and the former director of the SVR. She collected the three pistols on the floor, slipping her fingers through the trigger guards, then backed toward the living room entrance, her pistol still aimed at the three men.
“Stay exactly where you are for one hour, and no one will get hurt.” She had no idea if the men understood her or if the extraction team would arrive within that time, but figured an hour would be enough.
After backing out of the living room, she sprinted down the hallway. She hadn’t given much thought to her escape plan, which amounted to vacating the villa and heading toward the water. Maybe she could lose them in the dense vegetation along the brick walkway until assistance arrived.
Unfortunately, the three men either didn’t understand her or chose not to follow her directions. There was a commotion behind her — men shouting and running feet. As she turned the corner, a bullet buried itself into the wall behind her, and Christine realized she wasn’t going to make it to the brick path. After passing the indoor and outdoor pools on either side of her, she got an idea as she emerged onto the patio.